


Getting Inked

by jaythewriter



Category: Marble Hornets
Genre: M/M, Punk AU, Tattoos, Very Dedicated Boyfriends, as in this is kinda fluffy and indulgent, post-MH if jay were alive??????????
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-04
Updated: 2014-09-04
Packaged: 2018-02-16 04:25:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2255775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaythewriter/pseuds/jaythewriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's time for Tim's first tattoo, and Jay's there to hold his hand through it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Getting Inked

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warnings for piercings (none being done during this story but it's referred to), tattooing, and needles.
> 
> This is punk AU, where Jay and Tim survive and cope with life through the expression of... punk I guess. :D

“Tim, you’re sweating through your shirt.”

“Yeah.”

“It’s winter. It’s forty degrees out.”

“Yeah.” 

“…are you sure you’re okay?”

The dark haired man maintains his blank expression as he answers with a third ‘yeah’, just as monotone as last two.

Jay sighs and gently removes Tim’s leather jacket, draping it around his own shoulders instead. He fusses and huffs as he always does before these little outings. If he was paid for worrying, he’d never need to work again. 

Tim behaved in a similar manner when he received his first piercing-- wide eyed, chest shuddering as he attempted to shove a full gulp of air down his throat… for Jay, it’s a rather distressing sight. 

He remembers the color his bloodless hand took on during the ear piercing itself, the spotlight-styled lamps shining onto the needle and coloring it golden. Somehow, he’d forgotten how strong Tim’s grip is, too used to the careful and loving arms that wrap around him at night while he slumbers away.

When they left the hole-in-a-wall shop-- the very same one that they’re sitting in now, in fact-- Tim smirked and waved the whole incident off as a piece of cake. Every piercing since then has gone swimmingly; no nearly broken fingers, no teary eyes, and no trembling Tim. He proudly wears three holes in is ears and two above his eyebrow now.

This, on the other hand, is Tim’s first tattoo. He thought of it after seeing Jay’s own branding: the infamous circle that drew you in, whirlpool-like, and the harsh slashes that cut across it.

“I want it,” he’d said. “To make it my own. Like you did.”

Of course, Jay was fucking on board with the idea. If he’d known coming here would cause Tim to react like he was about to walk the green mile, though, he might have sat Tim down to think a little longer about the decision.

Bit late for that now. They drove out to the sole shop in town that performs modifications to their liking, they’ve put out the money, and they’ve got their best on. Jay’s patched up vest, declaring his love of the indie bands that Tim found out about through their return to school. Tim’s smooth leather jacket-- /real/ leather. Their shiniest boots, the ones that are the least scuffed and beat up. Shit, Tim even borrowed Jay’s dark jeans; he can fit into them seeing as Jay has gained some much needed weight and now wears a larger waistband.

Despite the comfort these familiar things ought to bring them, it’s obviously doing little to settle Tim’s nerves. He continues to pick and pull at his frayed sleeves and kick his boots against the floor. Jay tries to calm him with his touch, holding his knee and folding their fingers together. Tim always squirms from his grip though, not on purpose but by some unconscious feeling that he’s better off facing this blood rushing stress on his own.

“Yo, are the Wrights ready?” comes a voice past the sparkly bead curtain acting as a door to the room adjacent to the quiet waiting room. It gives Tim pause, temporarily pulling him from his nervous trance.

“Wrights?”

Jay flashes a red that rivals the crimson of the Satan portrait hung on the wall across from them.

“I thought it would be funny since the girl who did your ear asked if we were married and she’s doing you again and…”

Tim shakes his head, pressing a finger to Jay’s lips.

“You’re ridiculous. You’re the best, but you’re ridiculous.” 

A smile held back by shyness forms beneath Tim’s finger before the same lips pucker and kiss it. That shakes a slight smirk from Tim before he lets out a sigh and takes his hand back, using it to dust off the front of his jeans as he stands up.

“Guess it’s nut up or shut up now.”

“Right,” Jay agrees, joining him on his feet and flapping out Tim’s jacket to sit better on his thin shoulders. He tilts his fuzzy-haired head in the direction of the bead curtain and… nothing. Tim remains where he is, brown eyes glued to the countless number of rainbow beads. If humans were capable of experiencing lag…

Another sigh pushes its way from Jay’s lungs. He approaches his boyfriend and lays a hand against his chest, acutely aware of the pounding organ beneath his palm.

“Tim. We don’t have to do this. You don’t /need/ this tattoo.”

Tim utters a soft ‘yeah’ under his breath, just as he was doing before. The voice from beyond the curtain calls for the Wrights again, urging them along. Tim’s normally tan face is rivaling Jay’s own pallid skin, blood draining to some place around his feet since they’re suddenly too heavy to move. That’s what Jay’s assuming, anyway.

Taking Tim by the hand, he tugs and moves forward, past the desk littered with scribbles and tattoo plans and towards the curtain. Tim cooperates, taking his time in bowing through the beads and shaking them off of his back. A reclining leather chair sits in the middle of this cubed room, almost an old friend now after how many times both Jay and Tim have huddled into it, knuckles white around the black armrests. Every light in the room is focused on it, leaving the corners in shadow. For a first timer, it would come across as more ominous than anything, though Jay can’t think of a safer chair to be in.

“Alright, there you two are,” says the voice from earlier. Their favorite worker comes ducking out from the right side of the room, away from her steel table of paints and shiny metal tools. She whips her violently purple tresses over her shoulder and grins up at Tim, hands on her hips. If Jay isn’t mistaken, his whole body gives off a nervous shudder-- shaking, in the face of a five foot one girl in rubber blue gloves and a black sweater too big to conform to her torso. 

Jay aches for Tim and silently prays to any listening gods that this might be over with quick. 

\--

A constant buzzing has taken its place as the only sound Jay will ever know; his skull pounds and pulses, craving any other sound. 

The result looks as painful as it sounds. The back of Tim’s left shoulder is a fiery mess of red flesh and black ink. He lies on his belly, the chair he’s in stretched back so that it’s a straight line parallel with the floor. His arms support his head, and he remains silent, eyes closed tight. Jay wouldn’t be shocked if Tim were biting into the leather of the chair, quiet as he is.

Jay trusts Milly, she’s the best artist. She is patient with first timers, checking in if they display any nerves through twitching skin or stuttered breathing. Her work is quick and precise, certainly involving the least amount of pain possible, and it always takes a good five minutes to convince her to accept the extra cash Jay and Tim pay her.

But a protective beast residing within Jay’s chest has awoken at the sight of his trembling partner. If she is hurting him (and she asks if she is, often, and Tim’s answer never changes; an insistent shake of his head and a plea for her to just keep going), it’s not on purpose. 

Tell that to the roaring critter inside Jay. It scuttles to and fro on all four legs, snorting fire and commanding Jay to knock the buzzing needle from Milly’s hand. He ignores it best as he can, pretending that its demands don’t sound the least bit reasonable. 

He makes do by crossing the room to stand in front of Tim, laid out at such an angle that Jay can merely rest his hands on top of the man’s arms. A flash of watery brown eyes peer out over his bicep before he unfolds an arm from beneath his forehead and wraps his fingers around Jay’s. 

Instinct kicks in and suggests that Jay should perhaps remove his hand if he wishes to leave without the need for a cast or finger brace, but he brushes it off for now. Tim is gentle as could be, dancing his fingers across the soft flesh of Jay’s palm. He taps out a beat, one that Jay can’t recognize, but he can’t stifle the small smile that creeps onto his lips. How utterly Tim-like, clinging to the idea of song to escape from his stinging and raw body for a few moments.

“How much longer does he have to go?” Jay asks for him, careful to speak softly, lest he break Milly’s concentration. She takes the shining instrument from Tim’s body and reaches toward the vials of paint on the wheelie table next to her. Tim’s shoulder blades go slack, relaxing for the duration of his brief reprieve.

“Just a few more minutes, I’d say,” she replies, tucking a stray purple lock behind her ear before descending upon Tim’s bare skin again. Tim’s gasp is just audible over the ongoing buzz, prompting Jay to get on his knees to be at eye level with him. He takes the man’s hand between both of his and presses his lips to the sharp tip of each knuckle.

“Hear that, Tim?” he whispers, hoping to coax Tim from his coma-like state and get him to meet his eyes. “Not much longer.”

A peculiar sound erupts from Tim’s lips, reminding Jay of a dog’s pained bark. He realizes he’s laughing when he sees him shuddering, the way he does when Jay falls on his face after trying his hand at higher standing boots. 

“Oh, yeah, it’s fine, this isn’t too bad,” he says in one short breath. He wheezes before burying his face in the head of the leather seat, just as the needle’s buzzing lets out a pitchy whine. “Shit, it’s nothing, Jay, you should try this.”

“…I already have,” Jay points out, brow creasing in worry. He isn’t in so much pain that his memory is failing him, is he? 

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Tim utters, pulling a relieved exhale from Jay. His fingers wriggle loose from Jay’s grip and reach out to trace his left bicep, stroking over the tattoo there that will soon match up with the one drawn on his back. “I’m saying you should get another one, like, a lot more, both of us should.”

He continues to babble nonsense, something about music notes on his arms or a rainbow etched across Jay’s hip. Jay opens his mouth, ready to call Milly off, just as the buzzing comes to an abrupt halt and she rises to her feet, clapping her hands together.

“There we go!” she declares happily. She nods to the symbol on Tim’s back, and it stands out starkly against his pink skin, black as black can be with stretches of ink seemingly dribbling down from the circle, as though someone had taken a brush to Tim’s shoulder blade and splashed a thick amount of dark paint there.

Tim’s breathing evens out, and he rests his forehead against his hands. Seeing the opportunity, Jay digs for his phone, lifting it from his jeans’ pocket and turning it on. With a flick of his thumb, he has the camera open, and he snaps the photo of the new tattoo. Milly steps aside, grinning at the enthusiasm.

“There, Tim, look,” Jay says as he crouches down. He tilts the phone so that Tim can easily view the screen without moving. “What do you think?”

Hooded eyes peer out over Tim’s strong arms, and his face splits into the silliest of grins, stretching out his cheeks.

“I think I made the right decision.”

Jay softens, and he has to resist the temptation to kiss him, the sweetness of Tim’s voice making his teeth ache.

“…Told you it’d be a piece of cake,” Tim adds on before breathing in deep and unleashing it in a sigh, laying his head back down. Jay has to roll his eyes at him.

Suddenly it’s much easier to resist kissing his smug face.


End file.
